Standard Deviation
by Trena81
Summary: Brotherhood AU.  Preseries. In June 2005, Dean struggles with a new concept of family, while his family struggles with a new Dean.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Standard Deviation

By: Trena81

Summary: Preseries. June 2005. Dean struggles with a new concept of family, while his family struggles with a new Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. Surprised? Me too. The Brotherhood belongs to its wonderful creator Ridley C. James.

A/N: After years of reading fanfic, I've decided to contribute a little to one of my absolute favorite 'verses. I adore Ridley's Brotherhood and I wanted to turn her AU on its side a little by throwing in one of my favorite kinks. No...not that kind of kink. It's not a totally original idea, but I hope that my version brings you all some entertainment.

I must thank LovinJackson for her speedy beta and thoughts. I feel so much better having had someone of her caliber look over this.

Standard Deviation

It doesn't start or end with a bang. There's no searing pain or all encompassing anguish. No one is there to sooth him through the transformation. There's no bright light or voice to guide him. There's no soft hands and comforting sounds. There's no feeling of confusion or misplacement. He doesn't feel like he's lost or gained anything. He doesn't feel different at all.

==================JR==================

He hears the porch door slamming open and shut behind him as the dark blue of the pond comes into view, its soothing water calling to him. He wants to keep walking until he's surrounded by the water, entirely submerged and let the pressure and silence calm him.

"Dean, wait up!" Caleb's voice cuts through the thick afternoon heat as he jogs to catch up.

"Fuck Caleb, just leave me alone!" He shouts back over his shoulder.

"Hey! Language." Caleb shortens his stride as he catches up. He's already sweating just from the quick jog over, thanks to the sweltering day. Sweat gathers and beads at his dark hairline and Dean thinks that maybe his friend should take a dip in the pond too, but he doesn't think that the older hunter is in the mood, and he's not really in the sharing mood himself either.

He doesn't slow down for Caleb or look over, just keeps walking at his same quick pace. "You can stop pretending like you give a shit. I know that you're still working with my dad."

He'd gone along with the idea at first. When 'Project fix Dean' had gone into full swing, he hadn't fought it, confusion and fear clouding his judgment and, apparently, his sense of self preservation.

One botched hunt, of which the details are still a mystery to Dean, had left them all in a precarious situation. There's a witch involved somewhere, somehow, he's overheard enough to figure that much out, but beyond that he's effectively been left in the dark by both his best friend and the Triad. That had taken place over three weeks ago. Two weeks had been how long it had taken his sense of self preservation to finally kick in and take over.

He feels like an idiot. He thought he'd been able to deter his best friend from siding with his father. Caleb hadn't mentioned any potential remedies or solutions for nearly a week, until today, when Dean overheard the older hunter's conversation with his father about a contact with a possible solution to their "problem". And fuck if he isn't tired of being referred to as a problem.

Caleb moves in front of him, effectively cutting him off from going any further. He's close enough though. Twenty feet off from the pond, but it feels like he's standing right on it's shore. He feels empowered and validated. He's not a problem nor is he something that can be brushed aside. He's not some abstract idea to be discussed over the phone or in secrecy. He's real.

Caleb turns and faces him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He notices that Caleb's got that look on his face, the one where he's doing his damn best to placate him. He can already hear Caleb's voice, slow and gentle, trying to diffuse his ever-growing annoyance over this entire situation.

"Dean, man, come on. You've gotta stop this now. You're twenty-six," Caleb's head drops back and he closes his eyes. He's practicing his calming techniques, those ones that Mac used to make him learn. In through the nose, out through the mouth. A moment later they're eye to eye again. "You're supposed to be twenty-six. You know this and we've talked about this. We've talked about it ad nauseam. We're just trying to set things right."

He moves away from Caleb's touch and gives what he hopes is his best disgusted face. "By making me go away? Just say what you mean Caleb, you don't have to sugar coat it for me. You say that you want to set things right but what you really mean is that you don't want me here. Dad doesn't want me here. And neither does the rest of the Triad."

It's true. Jim's never looked so distraught before, at least never while looking at him. The Pastor is doing his best to put on a brave face, but Dean can see through the façade. The act is being put on for his benefit alone, to help protect his feelings. Jim's always trying to protect Dean's feelings, but when Jim doesn't know that he's looking, the Pastor's sadness is unmistakable.

It's Caleb's turn to look indignant. "It's not like that kid. Really. It's not as if we don't want to you here. We just miss our Dean too."

"I am your Dean!" His teenage pubescent voice cracks. Thirteen fucking sucks out loud. Caleb tries to conceal a surprised laugh with a badly imitated cough, but he's not letting his friend off the hook so he keeps going. "Just different. And I know you want me to be him, but I can't. I'm not him yet. So what happens if you never find something to set this right? Do I get to spend the rest of my life playing second best to a different version of myself? What happens if you find a way to reverse this four years from now? Will you off me then? What about in ten years? How about if I have a wife and family? What then Caleb?"

A part of him knows that he's being utterly unfair to the older man, that this isn't his friend's fault. But that part is dwarfed by an even larger part of him that is scared and frustrated. And since the real target of his frustration isn't around, hasn't been around for more than one day at a time since this happened, Caleb gets to serve as a scapegoat once again.

Caleb looks out over the pond, not meeting Dean's eyes as he begins to speak.

"Fuck, Deuce, I know this isn't fair to you. I get that. It's not fair for any of us. But when have our lives ever been fair right? Truthfully, yeah, I want him back. I miss him like hell. I know you're him, different, but him…but at the same time you're not. And it kills me when I consider the possibility that I've lost him for good. And that's not fair to you, but it's as if everything from his life from thirteen on never happened and that was a huge part of my life too."

And Dean does get that. Because he'll never get those years back with Caleb or his family either. They will all have memories that he's not apart of. Events that have shaped and directed their lives that he's not connected to. Inside jokes that he's on the outside of. His best friend is here and present, but at the same time, not. And he's always been able to confide in Caleb. Sometimes he didn't even need to explain what was going on, Caleb just knew. But he's out of sync with this older version of his best friend. He's an outsider all around.

"I miss you too. You're not the only one who's lost someone here. I've lost my best friend, my little brother, my dad and my home."

The loss of Sammy hurts the most. His entire life revolves around looking out for his younger brother, or at least it did before, but this Sam left him and was, as he's been told, more than capable of taking care of himself. The loss of his Caleb and Sammy has left him feeling adrift. No purpose and no support, his mind screams.

Finally, Caleb looks up, meeting Dean's gaze. "I'm so sorry kiddo. But that's just more of a reason to get you changed back."

Dean sits down and leans back against one of Emma's willow trees. The fight leaves him as quickly as it had come on inside the house. He imagines the pond water lapping up his rage, dragging it further away from him until it's been completely diluted. He misses the anger immediately, wants it back desperately so it'll mask the sorrow and loneliness that he feels now instead.

"I can at least help Caleb. I'm not useless, but you and dad keep leaving me at the farm while you take off. I hate being left behind."

Caleb's answer comes quick and leaves no room for argument. "No Deuce. There's a lot going on, stuff that I don't understand yet. Stuff that adult you didn't understand either. Demonic activity has gone through the roof and no way am I letting you get involved with anything more than a well supervised salt and burn."

Dean stays silent for a moment, and stares out over the pond. Maybe Caleb's right. Maybe he doesn't belong here. Maybe he should stop fighting. He's already adrift, maybe just…go with the flow.

"Fine." He says quietly.

"Fine?"

"Yeah. Fine. Go." Giving in hurts. But he's got no one on his side, no one who wants to keep him around and willing to stick up for him. His family will be relieved once he's gone and that's probably the worst feeling he's ever had.

Caleb looks unsure of how to answer. Speechless it seems. He'd find it funny but… "Dean-"

"Listen, I said you could go Caleb. Go find a way to set things right. No hard feelings. I probably won't even remember that this happened so it's almost like I don't even exist. You won't have to worry about this weighing on you conscious."

Caleb looks hurt and he's a little glad that at least one other person gets to feel as shitty as he does. "I'll be back in less than a week. You think you can handle yourself until then?"

"Yeah, sure. When will Jim and dad be gracing me with their presence again?" The Pastor and his father had gone out of town to get some hunting supplies from a contact.

"They're about a day out, maybe less. Are you going to be okay alone?"

"Aren't I always?" He says as his attention is again drawn to the water. He doesn't hear Caleb's response, if he has one. He only hears Caleb's footsteps as he walks away.

The remainder of his afternoon is spent under the willow tree and he doesn't rise when he hears Caleb getting ready to leave. Caleb packs his Jeep up and says a quick goodbye before taking off. He can't find it in himself to be angry at the older hunter's hasty exit. If Dean could find a way to change all of his family back to their younger selves, he would be leaving in a hurry too.

After the afternoon has faded to evening, he gets up and walks back to the farmhouse. The house itself has always been nearly as much of a safety net as the Impala, but now he finds that even it has an unfamiliar feel to it.

He prefers sticking to the main level of the house since it's changed the least, only venturing to the upstairs when it's absolutely necessary. Their childhood rooms have changed and it makes him feel like an intruder when he's in them. Walls are bare where there used to be posters. Sammy's childhood toys have been replaced by bulky books. It's just another reminder of how little he knows his own brother now.

He misses his brother so badly that it feels as though there's an actual physical ache within him. Calling Sammy had been one of the first things he'd wanted to do, but the Triad and Caleb refused to give him the number. Dean had snooped around, looking through Jim's office and his dad's journal. He'd tried appealing to Mackland from a psychological standpoint, that it hurt him emotionally to be apart from his brother, but even the Scholar refused. Sam's number was unlisted in the Stanford student directory and none of the school offices would give him the number either. He'd taken Caleb's phone and looked through his contacts, and when that hadn't worked he yelled and pouted. He figured that if he was going to be treated like a child, then he could very well act like one.

His father's anger had been so swift and unexpected that he'd been caught completely off guard. Caleb and Jim had quickly intervened and separated them. He and Caleb had gone outside, allowing Jim to calm his enraged father down within the confine of the house. John Winchester's temper is well known throughout the Brotherhood and outside hunting community and he's seen his dad pissed as hell before, even at him. But he'd never been on the receiving end of his father's anger like this, not to this magnitude. His father had been irate with him and he'd been scared. Once they had moved far enough away from the from the house, Caleb finally told him why they didn't call Sam. Sammy hadn't just left, like he'd been told. His brother and father had fought and Sam had been driven away by their father's caustic attitude and his unwillingness to reason or compromise. His dad's words had pushed Sam away with a finality that not even his adult self had been able to overcome.

He sighs heavily as he sits on the couch and pulls his thoughts back to the present. Thinking of Sam won't help anything. Nothing can help him now, not with his family so torn apart and scattered. Stretching out along the couch he wonders if his dad and Jim had any luck. He could call Jim, but he's completely mentally exhausted and he doesn't want to know the answer. He doesn't want to think about what tomorrow may bring, so instead he settles into his self imposed ignorance for the night and drifts off to sleep.

==================JR==================

He's not supposed to sleep overnight on the couch. It's one of Jim's rules, which is a real shame since it's by far the most comfortable couch in existence. It may have been Emma's couch, which is why they've never been allowed to sleep on it, but he doesn't think that she'd mind, just this once. He sleeps late into the morning and then goes out for a run during the afternoon. The air hasn't cooled any overnight, if anything, it's even more blistering than the day before. But the stinging in his legs and lungs dulls the ache in his chest.

While he's out his dad and Jim arrive home, just as Caleb had said. A good night's sleep and the long run helped clear his mind and he's looking forward to seeing his dad. Jim is standing at the kitchen counter making sandwiches as he comes through the back door of the farmhouse.

"Hey Jim. How was your trip? Where's dad at?" He asks as he walks up beside the Pastor.

Jim turns, smiling as he hands him a sandwich, which he takes gratefully. Jim's sandwiches are almost as good as the one's his mother made him as a child.

"Hello Dean. It was just fine and I believe your father is outside by that monstrosity of a truck of his. I'm sure he'll be most happy to see you."

His smile widens as he turns and walks outside through the front door, finishing his sandwich as he moves towards his father's truck. His dad is unloading weapons out of the stowage compartments and into a duffle bag. He hopes that Jim is right and his dad will be happy to see him.

"Hey dad."

Dad turns at the sound of his voice, but his face morphs into disappointment when he looks at him. The look only lingers for a moment, but it's long enough to catch. Unmistakable, unequivocal, plain as day disappointment. To him, it's the worst look in the world.

"Dean." Dad says as he turns back to the truck.

He battles the urge to turn away and run. He feels a little like throwing up. Maybe a lot. With some effort, he controls his breathing, in through the nose and out through the mouth, and regains control over his features. He's learned that from the best after all and he's not willing to give up on this relationship, no matter how short-lived. He's already lost Sammy by no fault of his own, he won't let his father push him away. He takes a couple of steps forward, closing the gap between them.

"Can I help clean and organize the weapons?" Say yes, he thinks, please say yes.

His dad takes a deep breath before turning to face him. He knows it's a 'no' before he hears it. "I don't think so Dean. I'm sure that Jim can find something for you to help out with around here if you're bored. This is something that I need to concentrate on. Alone. I can't afford any distractions right now."

His father turns back to the truck without another word. His heart sinks and takes all of his good intentions and determination with it. He feels the burn of tears in his eyes and he quickly turns away before his dad can see him cry. No need to give him more ammunition. He makes his way back to the farmhouse, only to remember that Jim is inside, and he just cannot handle whatever excuse the Pastor will come up with for his father. He changes direction and heads back towards the pond. He doesn't understand what he's done to deserve being treated like this or why his father will barely talk to him or even look at him.

He stares out over the pond once again. It's water has always been a refuge for him, somewhere he can go when he needs time to think. And he really does need time to think because this shit, is not working for him. He understands that they want their Dean back, but they can at the very least try to treat him like a person. The anger that had left the day before finds him again and he welcomes it back. He'll gladly take it back from the pond. Maybe it was just being held safe until he needed it again.

It takes a bit of time until he's regained his composure and ready to face his father and Jim. He needs to lay down the law and create some boundaries for whatever time he has left here. He turns away from the pond and moves back to the farmhouse again. Dad is no longer outside and as he moves into the house he can hear his father and the Pastor deep in conversation. He moves closer so he can hear better.

"Fuck Jim, I just don't know what to do with the kid." His dad says.

"He's your child Jonathan. He needs you to be here for him." Jim responds.

"No. He's not my child." His father responds. The words are dark and harsh and they hit him hard. The air leaves his lungs and he's not sure how he can draw another breath. Maybe he won't. Maybe his father's words will crush the spell like they've crushed his spirit and he'll just cease to be. He doesn't know how his father could say that. He doesn't understand how his father could possibly mean that.

"My child Jim? My child is twenty-six years old. I already raised my child. I don't have time for this…for him. He's of no use to me like this. He can't look out for Sam. He can't hunt without a babysitter. We'll have to train him all over again, which is going to cost us time, energy and resources that we don't have. If you hadn't noticed, things are going to complete shit out there. Hell Jim, he's of no use to you like this either, and you know it."

He's heard enough. There's blood rushing through his ears, washing out Jim's denial. He's always been about family, but this wasn't his family. Not like they were before. They didn't want him, couldn't use him. He'd known that deep down. But it had sounded so much better coming from Caleb.

Well, fuck them, he thinks. He's done. If he's of no use to them, then there's really no reason for him to stick around. He's done making everyone else out to be a priority in his life when all along he's only just been an option in theirs. An option that his father has apparently opted out of. He bites the inside of his cheek as more tears threaten to fall as he heads upstairs to their Dean's room. He has plans to make.

TBC

* * *

End Note: Try not to hate on John (or me if you're a John lover) too much. He'll be redeemed later on. Thanks for taking the time to read.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi all! Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed and put the story of alert. It's a lot of fun being on this end of the writing process and I hope that you are all enjoying the ride. Chapter 3 is done and beta'd. I should have it posted within the next couple of days, maybe sooner. Thanks again to LovinJackson for her beta work on this.

* * *

Jim watches the sun creep up slowly over the horizon, giving the sky a beautiful amber glow. Mornings have reclaimed their title as Jim's favorite part of the day. He and Emma used to sit in their kitchen, looking out the window and drinking their coffee. Sometimes, they'd walk together down to the pond and sit on her marble bench. They never had to utter a word; true love was like that. It was enough just to be in each others presence. Mornings like this make Jim feel closer to her, like if he closed his eyes he could hear her breaths coming from the chair beside him.

He often wished that John could feel this way, that his friend could feel Mary without the anger consuming him. But John had to find his own way to peace, just as Jim did. In the months and years following his Emma's death, he couldn't bear the thought of another morning. The sun peeking up would taunt him with the promise of another day without his wife. Instead, he had cherished the evenings, when he knew the day was over and he could let sleep take him away. He had healed, eventually, and very slowly. John hasn't let himself heal. If anything, the wound left behind by Mary's death has become infected and neglected. It's festered and grown while John has refused to look at it, and it in turn has refused to ameliorate.

"He most definitely excels in avoidance," he mumbles.

John deals with fear and pain by becoming angry. His friend is rather predictable in that sense and that's precisely why he knows that John is scared out of his mind right now. Lose your wife, get angry. That's understandable. Afraid of losing your son to college, get angry. That's…a little less understandable. His anger towards Dean is misplaced and he told John as much last night. Last night, when John had been…harsh, to say the least. Talking John down had been quite a task, but he was able to get John to at least admit that he'd been purposely avoiding Dean. He'd only let John go to bed after he'd secured a promise from him to go and talk to Dean. It had taken a lot to get that promise from John but the boy needed reassurance that only his father could provide.

The sound of approaching footsteps on the staircase brings Jim's thoughts back to the present. John's always been an early riser. He stands to grab another cup of coffee for his friend but when he turns, he's surprised to find Dean standing in front of him instead of John. There's a strange look in the teen's eyes, and even though it's been a long while since he's had to decipher Dean's attitudes, if memory serves him correctly, that's disappointment in the boy's eyes.

"Are you alright my boy?"

Dean flinches, but schools his features quickly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Dad said that there was stuff around here that needed to be done. While I was out running I saw that your fence needs some work, otherwise you'll have Mr. Liston's cows in your garden again. So, I thought that maybe I could go down there and fix it for you."

Jim thinks about Dean's proposal for a moment. "That's more than a one day job, Dean."

Dean opens his mouth to argue but Jim cuts him off. "But…I do hate seeing my rhubarb eaten before I can make it into pie for you."

A small smile forms on Dean's face. "Well, I was thinking about camping out there. I have all the gear that I'll need ready to go. There's some barbed wire already out there and I have gloves, pliers and some other stuff in my bag. It'll be a two day job, tops, and I'll have the phone Caleb gave me."

Dean had been pretty astonished by the phone. It had been 1992 when Dean was last thirteen and technology had advanced so much since then. The two of them had laughed and Caleb had gone on about Ipods and DVRs. The boys had been happy and it had been a good afternoon.

He moves across the kitchen and sets the extra coffee mug down on the counter-top. "You hate camping, Dean."

Dean looks away for a moment, and when their eyes meet again there's a pleading there. "Camping isn't one of my favorite things, but Jim, I really need to get out of here and clear my head. I can't think here. You get your fence and I get to have some clarity."

"And, you also get your rhubarb pie," he reminds Dean.

Dean's smile is back. "Well, I guess that makes us just about even then doesn't it?"

Dean's not usually the one who needs a break from family. But, the teen has been through a lot and he can't find it in himself to deny him the opportunity to come to terms with the situation. And Dean has always been a physical being, preferring to work out his problems with his hands rather than in his mind.

He sighs. "Alright Dean. I'll let your father know, but I fully expect you to call if you need anything and to check in both this evening and tomorrow morning. And at lunch as well."

"Seriously? I'm just fixing the fence and I'll be back tomorrow evening. And I'll only be thirty minutes away."

He shoots Dean a stern look. "I'm being cautious. The only reason I'm letting you go is because you'll be on the property and it's well protected. Nevertheless, you will call and check in. That is not negotiable."

Dean's already picking up his pack before he's finished speaking. "Alright Jim. I'll call you guys if I need anything."

"And to check in!" He calls out to Dean.

Dean throws him a wave to over his shoulder as he leaves the kitchen. The front door opens and closes quietly and then the house is silent and still. Apparently avoidance runs in the Winchester family. His friend may be fortuitous in getting out of his talk with Dean, but John is absolutely going to sit down with the boy just as soon as that fence is fixed. He'll make sure of it.

==================JR==================

Sure he'll check in, he thinks.

He moves through the living room and out the front door as quietly as possible. Dad hadn't been up yet, which was surprising. He doesn't doubt that Jim will make his dad give him some space. Not that his dad would want to see him anyway. Lying to the Pastor made him feel bad, but it was necessary in this case. He can cover a lot of ground in two days. Hopefully, if all goes well, he can disappear in two days. With his freedom beckoning him, he quickens his pace as he heads towards the Liston place. He's had this feeling before, the desire to have something for himself, his own bit of independence, but he's always crushed it down for the sake of his family. Not this time, he thinks, and not anymore. He's only looking out for himself now.

He moves north, out past Jim's garden and then through the Black Gum trees that line the northern most part of the property. The trees turn a brilliant red-orange during the fall, making the farm appear to be even more enchanted. Sammy had always loved it when the trees turned. Jim's dragon stories would become even more elaborate against the colorful backdrop, causing Sammy's imagination to run even wilder.

He really does love this farm. Jim's place has been the location for many happy occasions, hunting related and otherwise. On these occasions it was as if the entire farm was celebrating along with them. The colors were vibrant. The pond was clear and peaceful. The air smelled fresh. On the sad occasion of a hunter's death or when the anniversary of Mary and Emma's deaths were close, the entire property seemed to go into mourning. In the summer when the anniversary of Emma's death arrived, the weeping willows near the south edge of the pond sagged a little lower into the water and the forest went quiet and still as though all the birds and cicadas were in grieving too. The second of November found the farm looking dreary and dull as though the life had been pulled right out. The sky would stay grey with full clouds that refused to release any snow to brighten the day.

Right now, the house and the woods look as lonely as he feels, as if it's echoing his sadness. Or maybe it's not his own sadness the farm is feeling, he thinks. Maybe it's Sam's absence that triggered this bereavement. He's always known that Sammy was their innocence and their most treasured possession. With him gone, perhaps the farm, like the rest of them, had fallen into a deep depression.

He arrives at the property line and the fence in twenty minutes. Jim longtime neighbor, Mr. Liston, keeps one hundred head of cattle on his ranch and every year, without fail, at least one of them ventures onto Jim's property through some hole in the fence line. Usually, any damage inflicted by these intruders was on the Pastor's garden, much to Jim's frustration.

That changed in one frightening moment when Sammy had been five. His little brother had been out by the stables playing with the newly hatched ducklings when one of Liston's larger bulls had wandered onto the property. Sammy had naively thought that this one was harmless, like all the other times before. His brother had moved to pet the bull, not noticing the obvious signs of agitation. When the bull charged, Sammy was just able to get out of way by diving under the stable fencing. One sprained ankle, a lot of crying and a lot of yelling from dad had elicited profuse apologies and a promise to fix and maintain the fencing immediately from Mr. Liston. He had checked the fence himself every year. He'd been too far away when the bull had charged and had been terrified that he was going to lose Sam.

As he moves closer to the fence, it's clear that it hasn't been maintained in years. Maybe, with no children at the farm to get trampled, it's no longer a priority. Or maybe Mr. Liston doesn't have cattle anymore. He unloads any unnecessary items from his ruck and pulls out an even smaller bag, filled with essentials. With his load considerably lightened, Dean carefully steps through the broken fence and continues north.

He'd mapped out his route the night before after he'd gone up to his room. He plans to move north, staying in the woods and back roads that parallel I-65. Ten mile ruck marches have always been one of his dad's favorite forms of torture, but Louisville is just a shade less than fifty, making ten miles feel like a stroll through the park. He's almost tempted to lift a car or hitch a ride in, but he can't risk getting caught. By noon, he's traversed nearly sixteen miles through the sweltering Kentucky heat. The back of his shirt is soaked where the ruck lays against him and his hair is plastered to his forehead and neck.

Just before he reaches Lebanon Junction, he finds a small cottage veiled by tulip poplars. He moves around the outside quietly, making sure that it's empty. Picking a lock is one of the essential survival skills his father taught him years ago but he's never broken into someone's home before, not on his own and not outside of a hunt. It makes him nervous and he'd reconsider, but his canteen is nearly empty and dehydration is a definite risk in this Kentucky heat, so he decides to go for it. He carefully picks the lock on the back door and lets himself inside.

The interior is bare but well kept and the air is stale and even thicker inside than outside but he finds the water still connected. He lets the water run for a minute before filling his canteen. He takes a long drink and splashes his face and neck to cool off. The water tastes and feels just as great as he thought it would and he starts to feel a little less guilty about the whole breaking and entering thing.

He walks through the house only to find more empty rooms. Inside the last on the right there are unopened boxes with names written on them, a box for Cindy here and a box for Jeffery there. There's one for the bathroom and a couple more for the kitchen. He wonders why they're here, dusty, alone and forgotten. Maybe his parents packed like this when they moved from their small apartment and into their house. A box labeled John and another one for Mary. He wonders if Cindy and Jeffery's life in their little cottage got derailed just like his parent's did. He hopes not, but then again he knows first-hand how things can go downhill in the blink of an eye.

On the back wall behind Cindy and Jeffery's boxes are bigger household item. There's a coffee table, a couple of lamps, a stereo, gardening tools, a broom and mop, a sewing machine and…jackpot, a black mountain bike. He's not really into biking; it's always been more of Sammy's thing. But he can ride. Someone had to keep up with his little brother after all and Caleb sure as hell wasn't going to get his ass on a bike after he got the Jeep. This is good, he thinks. A bike will take hours off of his trip and with any luck, he'll be out of this Kentucky heat in no time.

==================JR==================

Peace and quiet is completely overrated, Caleb decides. He may have become accustomed to making long solo trips over the years, but he's always had Dean to call when the silence of his jeep became too stifling. He misses being able to make that phone call. He misses a lot of things now that Dean is gone. Mac says that it's normal to grieve the loss of his friendship, but he refuses to believe that his friend is gone for good. He keeps telling himself that this is a temporary situation. They just have to figure out a way to fix whatever had happened to Dean. Which of course has become much more of a challenge than the Triad had anticipated.

John had been so damn sure about this guy in West Virginia but the entire trip had been a colossal waste of time. It had only taken him twenty minutes of talking with the guys to figure out that he was a total fraud. A grade A quack looking for some attention. The loss of information had sucked the energy right out of him and he'd spent the rest of that day and evening in a local dive instead of heading back to Jim's. It's only been a couple of weeks, but he feels their chances of bringing Dean back slipping with each passing day. The familiar jingle of his phone brought his thoughts back to the present.

"Johnny! Tell me you have another dead end for me to waste my time on." He answers the phone sarcastically.

"I wouldn't have sent you there if I had thought it was a dead end. And don't call me that," John replies gruffly. "Listen, I'm heading out of town for a couple of days. Jim's here, but there's an emergency with one of his parishioners so he's not going to be around much the next couple of days either."

"And what exactly will that bag of hormonal teenage angst we call your son be doing?"

"He took off this morning towards the old Liston place. He says he's going down there to fix the fence, but I have a feeling that he's just trying to get away from me. Jim convinced me to let him stay the night down there. He says it'll be good for the kid."

"I'm sure you took a lot of convincing. And that doesn't sound like Dean. What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. I'm just trying to not get too attached to him. He's so much like Dean was-"

"He's exactly like Dean was, because he is Dean."

"Not for long. He'll be back to normal soon."

"Maybe not as soon as you're hoping for John. You can't just ignore him or pretend like he doesn't exist. Or send him out on random errands to get him out of your hair."

"I didn't send him, hell, I wasn't even up when he left. He's the one who chose to stay out there. And Jim said that he needed a little time to clear his head."

"He wouldn't need to clear his head if you'd just sit down and talk to him. But now…let me see if I have this right. He's fixing a dead man's fence and camping. And you believed that? Because the last time I checked, that is not the way your son clears his head. He does hand to hand, or runs, works on a car or sits by the pond. He doesn't leave the only family he has and he most certainly doesn't volunteer to camp. Did either of you even mention to him that Mr. Liston died six years ago?"

Frustration washes over him. John and Jim had been conned. That damn kid, as if one round of teen Dean wasn't enough, now they have front row tickets to the encore. Déjà vu, he thinks, remembering the time Dean ran off on Josh's watch. Dean was running to see Sammy then and he would bet the farm that Dean is working his way towards Sam this time as well. John's voice cuts through his frustration.

"-talked to him on his phone just about an hour ago Caleb. He's fine. Hell, I'm glad to see him out of the house or away from the pond and helping out. And if you're so damn worried about him then just get your ass back here and you can see that he's A-Okay for yourself. You could always use your abilities to reach out and touch him, or better yet, why don't you just give him a call on the phone you gave him?"

"Yeah sure, but that sounds really close to the protocol a parent should be following, don't you think?"

"That's never stopped you before Junior. And I told you I just talked to him. I'm not turning around to go lay eyes on him now."

"No, of course you wouldn't. That would be asking a lot of you. How do you even know he's telling the truth?"

"If he'd been talking to me, I'd have my reservations. But this was between Dean and Jim. And you're going to feel like a real ass when Dean's back to normal and this all behind us. He's going to give you such shit for this and I'm going to give him every last detail I can to help him out. Listen, I've gotta make another call. I'm stopping in Windom for the night so give me a call if you figure anything else out. Anything useful and urgent, otherwise I'll talk to you in a couple of days."

"John-"

"Caleb, I've already been given the guilt trip from Jim and let me tell you, he's much better at it. When I get back I'll sit down and Dean and I will have a chat. I can't and won't give up on getting our Dean back, but…I'll make an effort to be the there for this Dean. That's the most I can give you at the moment."

The call is disconnects and he takes a deep breath through his nose and tries to calm himself. John running away from the situation is par for the course. He's been avoiding Dean over the last couple of weeks and the kid has taken notice. And so has Jim apparently. If Jim got him to promise then he must have pulled out the big gun. Mary. And it served his mentor right.

The sky is dark out now so Dean should be finished working on the fence for the day, if Dean is in fact working on the fence instead of hitchhiking to Palo Alto like he thinks he is. He picks his phone back up and dials Dean's number. The phone doesn't ring, just goes straight to voicemail. He hangs up and redials but all he gets is an automated voice again, telling him to leave a message. He drops the phone without leaving a message and runs his hand through his hair.

"Damn it Dean!" He yells as he steps down harder on the accelerator.

==================JR==================

As soon as he arrives within the city limits he's able to ditch the bike and rely on public transit to get him the remaining distance to the airport. He makes it into Louisville and to the airport with time to spare. Security is tight but he'd expected that. Upstairs on the computer set up in his and Sammy's room, he looked into what he could get away with bringing on the plane. As it turns out, a lot has changed since the last time he'd been to the airport to pick up Caleb. A carry on was the only piece of luggage he has, so his Glock and Bowie knife had to stay at Jim's. He really doesn't want to dwell on the reason why so much has changed when he's already nervous as hell about what he's about to do. He hates flying. The idea of giving someone else that much control sits heavy in his stomach but it's the only way to Palo Alto and Sam, so he's willing to do it.

The plane ticket itself turned out to be much easier then getting a bus ticket to Auburn a couple of years back. Of course, he is thirteen now. But even more important than that, he's armed with a credit card, a basic working knowledge of the internet, and a fake ID that says he's sixteen. Caleb had insisted that he have some sort of identification, just in case there was some sort of emergency or as it turns out, if he decided to run away and fly unaccompanied. His dad had thought that it was pointless, a waste of time. But Caleb had gotten it anyways, completely disregarding his dad's feelings. The older hunter had found some brainiac hacker with nothing better to do than rustle him up an identity that would connect him to John, or one of John's aliases, without raising suspicion. Dad had been pissed. Caleb, of course, hadn't given a shit and he, well, he just thought it was nice that some things never change.

Finding the credit card had been a stroke of luck. He'd been unwilling to steal from Jim, lying had been bad enough, so he had liberated one of his father's credit cards, brand new, inactivated, and still sealed in its envelope. Alexander Mitchell, happily and willingly bought his nephew a single one-way ticket to San Jose, California.

A perky gate agent with a thick accent announces the boarding of Flight 174 and he shuffles in line with a hundred other people ready to get the hell out of Kentucky. There's a woman next to him talking away on her cell phone and he thinks about his phone sitting back on the kitchen counter of the cottage and he's glad that there's one less way for him to be tracked. Mac's going to give him enough trouble as it is. It's finally his turn to board and he thinks of how easily he could just turn back and go back to the farm. But then he remembers his father's acrid remarks and how much he wants to see his brother. With his mind made up, he gives the agent his ticket and boards his flight.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks again to LovinJackson, she was able to beta chapter 2 and 3 together.

* * *

It's late morning of the next day by the time Dean finds himself walking towards Stanford's campus looking for the adult version of his nine year old brother. It's turning out to be an impossible task. The image of his nine year old brother, arms full of books, and an X-men backpack refuses to shake loose from his mind. The image makes him smile. He's not at all surprised that Sammy made it into one of the best schools in the country. His little brother has always been too smart for his own good. Geek boy.

The road entering campus is flanked by tall palm trees and the crisp green lawn is well manicured. The site is a bit overwhelming. Most of his life has been lived out of motel rooms and the Impala. He's seen a lot of the country, but so much of his memories of those places have been sullied and ruined by hunts. Everything in front of him looks clean and neat. Dad rarely took them to the west coast and California in particular is too crowded for his dad's taste. And different. Maybe that had been Sammy's deciding factor on where to go. Different.

He stops walking for and looks around. The school is huge and he feels ridiculous for thinking that he could just walk straight onto campus and find his brother. Sammy could be living off campus in Palo Alto for all he knows. And if Sam is living off campus, then he's got little hope of finding his brother at all. But…he's got an idea. After all, Sammy's not the only smart Winchester in the family. There's a group of girls sitting in the grass, books open in front of them. Yahtzee. He makes his way over to them, adjusting his backpack and putting on one of his best smiles.

He doesn't know where his brother lives or what his number is, but he does know the one place that Sammy can't resist.

"Hi. I was wondering if you could tell me how to get to the library."

~~~~~~~~~~JR~~~~~~~~~~

It's the pen that's the problem. Constitutional Law is his favorite class this semester and by far his most challenging. Dr. Larson is not only his adviser but she also wrote him a glowing endorsement to accompany his law school applications and he want to nail his final is tomorrow morning. So concentrating is a must, but that pen is going to be the end of him.

Jess is sitting across from him at their kitchen table with her legs crossed and her psychology book open on her lap. Her legs are tanned from the California sun and her tank top is drifting dangerously lower. It's distracting, but it's not the problem. The problem is that he can't take his eyes off of her mouth. She's got the fucking pen in her mouth again and it drives him crazy watching the way the tip indents her bottom lip.

It only takes him a moment to move to the other side of the table and pull the book out of her lap. She puts the pen down on the table and he drags her over to his chair and onto his lap. He's got one hand moving through her long blonde curls while his other hand moves from her slim waste to her hips and then travels a little further. Her hair is still damp from their shower this morning, her skin smells like vanilla and her lips taste like cherry.

She pulls back for a moment. "I thought that you had studying to do."

"It can wait." He pulls her back in for another kiss. In the background, he can hear his cell phone vibrating against the table but he's not interested in whatever anyone has to say at the moment. He pulls her closer and he feels the corner of her lips turn up into a smile right before she pulls back away. She gets up off of his lap and starts heading towards their bedroom and calls back over her shoulder to him.

"The pen gets you every time, counselor. You better watch that distractibility in court."

A moment later he's following her into the bedroom leaving behind his books and phone.

~~~~~~~~~~JR~~~~~~~~~~

"Has your father booked his flight, or will he be taking Cullen's jet?" Jim asks from his desk as he sorts the stacks of papers he'll need for the upcoming funeral. The death of one of Jim's longtime parishioners had been sudden and had unfortunately allowed Dean an even greater opportunity to get away unnoticed.

"He's flying straight into California. The pilots are filing the flight plan as we speak so he should be arriving just a couple hours after us." We should be there right now, he thinks to himself. We _could_ be there right now. He's pacing back and forth but it's not helping with the cagy feeling that's seeped into his bones. He desperately needs to be in action but they have to wait for John.

"Stop your scowling Caleb. John will be here soon and then we'll be on our flight."

"Reading minds now Jim?"

"No, I for one believe that one's own thoughts should remain just that, their own."

"You're missing out. And John should be here by now. I called him first."

It had been dusk by the time he'd driven up the long drive leading to the farmhouse. The house had been silent and dark as he had made his way up the porch and into the front room. He reached out psychically, trying to feel Dean's presence. He pushed beyond the house and the pond to the limit of his abilities. He had felt nothing.

Taking a flashlight he had walked north towards the property line. He had to be sure that Dean wasn't there, had to see it with his own eyes that the teen wasn't hurt and alone. When he reached the property line, he found Dean's tent and supplies hastily discarded off to the side. The fence was untouched and the teen was gone. He'd called the Triad right away but saved his dad for last. They needed to figure out what object would allow Mac to find this younger Dean.

"We know what flight he was on and how much of a head start he has on us. We also know exactly where he's going. We'll find him Caleb. Were you able to get in touch with Samuel?"

"He's not answering. I left a message for him to call me."

"Well, I'm sure he'll call just as soon as he can."

He opens his mouth to respond when an all too familiar pressure grips his head. It's all the warning he gets before his vision slides sideways and the pain erupts sending him to his knees.

_He's standing on a trail, surrounded by trees. Ten feet in front of him he can see Dean, sitting on the ground, leaning heavily against large tree. _

_A man approaches Dean from behind. Time skips along and now there's blood matted in Dean's hair and the man has one hand fisted in the teen's _

_shirt while the other is pulling out a long knife. The last thing he sees is Dean's face frozen in fear. _

As the vision releases him from its hold, he feels his stomach rebel against him and bile creeping up his throat. He starts crawling towards the wastebasket but he doesn't have to go far. Pastor Jim brings it the rest of the way and his strong hands steady him as he wretches. It takes a few minutes for his stomach to settle but when it does he pulls away from Jim and leans up against the office wall.

"We have to go now, Jim. We don't have time to wait for John." He tries to stand but Jim stops him.

"You need to take a moment, Caleb."

"We don't have a moment! Dean's in trouble." He should have left on his own. He knows where the kid went and he could have headed this entire mess off at the pass, but he'd waited on the Triad instead.

Jim nods. "We have the next flight out Caleb. If you leave now you'll just be waiting at the airport. Calm down and tell me what you saw. You know John is going to want to know all the details of what you saw."

"I don't give much of a damn what John wants. This is his fault." He spits out.

Jim sighs heavily and leans back against the wall next to him. "John owns his fair share of responsibility in this, but so do the rest of us, Dean included."

"You're blaming Dean for this?"

"We've all made poor decisions Caleb. None of us have been as welcoming and supportive as we could have been. But yes, Dean has a responsibility in this as well. He may be a child, but he's making bad choices. Running away is something he's done before and it's as bad of a solution now as it was then, no matter how good his intentions were or are. You need to put aside your anger at John and focus on your vision. Now, tell me what you saw."

Jim gets up and pours him a glass of water while he recounts the details of his vision. It's frustrating, the lack of identifying features to help guide them along. Trees and a trail are hardly enough to go off of. By the time he's done he doesn't feel as though he's made any progress. At this point all they know is that Dean is in trouble. In the woods. Jim gets back on the phone with John and Mac while he goes to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face and clean out the wastebasket. Helplessness is a feeling that he's never gotten used to and he hates that he feels that way right now.

He also hates that Jim is right. They're all culpable, even him. He wants to make it right, but he doesn't mean it the way he meant it before. He's not willing to sacrifice this Dean who does exist for the Dean who may never exist again. He wants the kid back where he can see him and know that he's protected. He wants to know that Dean is safe. And when Dean is safe again, after he's saved the kid from being murdered yet again, he's going to kick his ass into next week.

~~~~~~~~~~JR~~~~~~~~~~

As it turns out, Stanford has more than one library. His brother must love it here. Since he can't stake them all out, he chooses the largest one. The way he sees it, the higher number of books directly correlates to the higher chance that his brother will show. So he's been sitting on the fountain outside of Green Library for nearly three and a half hours studying each face that passes him by. He considers, very briefly, giving up and leaving but he's got nowhere to go and he's come so far.

His luck _finally_ shifts for the better. He would have let Sam walk right past him if it hadn't been for another student yelling out his name.

"Hey Winchester!" Blonde guy yells.

The other guy is coming from the opposite side of the fountain from Sam. Sammy, his brother, turns around and…suddenly, the entire situation feels like some sort of cosmic joke. It had been a bit ridiculous for him to be expecting his nine year old brother, but this guy was enormous. Sasquatch sized even. This Sam was huge and he was…walking right passed him.

"Brady, what's up?" His brother asks. Huge Sam looks very serious. It's difficult to reconcile the image in front of him and the image of the brother he knows. This Sam looks like a stranger.

"We're still meeting up later right?" Brady wants to know. His brother's friend looks like the sort of kid that hated and made fun of him in school. He kind of reminds him of Josh.

"Yeah, I'll meet you guys there tonight." The conversation proceeds and is painfully boring. Brady teases Sam about being at the library too much and Sam teases Brady back that he should be spending more time there. He thanks God when they finally part ways a few minutes later. He's glad when Brady leaves, since the guy bugs him. Sam is turning back towards the library and his window of opportunity is closing. It's now or never, he thinks.

"Sam." He jumps down off of the fountain and steps forward.

His brother turns around and looks down at him. Sammy looks unsure of what to say and looks around like he's been set up. "Uh, yeah, I'm Sam."

He feels unsure now.

Run away from the farm. Check.

Cross country without being caught. Check.

Find Sammy. Check.

And wow, he hadn't really planned anything beyond that. Awesome. He'd been hoping that Sam would recognize him but instead his brother is looking at him like he's a total stranger. Which, to be fair, he sort of is so he doesn't blame Sam. No way was his hulking little brother planning on seeing his estranged twenty-six year old brother as a thirteen year old.

He should say something more because Sam is beginning to look at him like he's grown a second head. His brother shifts his plain black not X-Men backpack and looks like he's about put an end to this awkward situation by saying something when a pretty blond comes up and hooks her arms around Sam's stomach. A smile sweeps over Sam's face and he finally sees his brother in this older man. Those deep dimples and wide grin that he's missed seeing so much are now present and his brother relaxes into the girl's embrace. Her hair is long and curly and she reminds him of his mother. He wonders if Sam has ever made the connection.

His brother turns his lead slightly and swings one long arm around the girl's shoulder pulling her close to his side. And then…gross, they're kissing. Not that he minds kissing. He's done it plenty of times. But in a million years he never needed to see his little brother's tongue in some chick's mouth. He looks away for a moment to let them finish up since it seems he's been forgotten, an outsider in Sam and Blondie's moment. They're murmuring something to each other that he can't quite make out but when he looks back over his brother looks happy and relaxed and he thinks he finally gets why his dad didn't want him here.

Sam just doesn't look happy, he is happy. Happy and out of the hunting world. He has friends and a school that he doesn't have to worry about moving away from. He's got his normal. And here comes his big brother to screw it up for him. He came here to take his brother away from the palm trees, the ocean and a leggy blond that doesn't mind his brother's tongue in her mouth. And maybe he didn't plan on taking Sam physically away from here, but watching out for a thirteen year old would upend his brother's life and he finds that he can't do it anymore. As much as he wants and needs to see Sammy, he can't wreak havoc on his little brother's life like that. Sammy deserves this. And he's always tried to be a good big brother and there's no reason to stop now. He turns to go when Sam's voice calls out to him.

"Hey kid, did you need something?"

He doesn't turn all the way back around to answer. "Nah, you just remind me of my brother. I haven't seen him in a while and you look a lot like him. You know what it's like to miss a brother."

He adjusts his bag on his shoulder and starts to walk away. Behind him he hears Sam and the girl talking again but he can't hear them anymore.

He keeps walking, letting his brother disappear back into a world where older brothers don't exist to pull little brothers back into a life they want nothing to do with. He almost wishes that he hadn't come here, that he'd chosen anywhere in the world to go besides here. But then he remembers how happy his brother looked wrapped up in that girl's arms and he's glad that he got to see that. Because at least now he can leave with the knowledge that Sam is safe and happy.

He's not sure where to go next so he starts walking west. Maybe he'll walk far enough to see the ocean. A half of an hour passes by and he finds himself walking on a small wooded path. The afternoon is nice and breezy, a welcome departure from the Kentucky heat he had been in only yesterday. He's still miles off from the ocean but he can already smell a hint of salt-water in the air. A smaller and less defined path juts off of the main passage to the right and he stops to consider which direction to take. The path less traveled looks pretty damn good to him at the moment so he veers off to the right. A couple of minutes later the path widens and he decides to sit down for a break.

He thinks he'll head to Arizona after this. He's always wanted to see the Grand Canyon and now would be the perfect time. Maybe he'll just go sightseeing for the summer. He can pretend like he's backpacking across the country like some of Caleb's rich classmates did. Except, they had gone to Europe. Oh well, biggest ball of twine here he comes.

"Beautiful day."

The voice startles Dean from his thoughts. He stands up quickly and grabs his bag. He's not in the mood for company or small talk. He turns away and starts back toward the path.

"I said it's a beautiful a beautiful day." The man repeats. "Dean."

"Oh, that's such a bad sign." He mutters to himself. He turns and faces the man. The guy is short and shockingly pale. Sweat is dripping down the guy's face and his dark curly hair is greasy and slicked back against his head. He can't believe he didn't smell the guy coming up on him. "Sorry pal, but I'm not who you think I am."

The guy takes a step closer and smiles.

"I think what you mean, is that you're not who you're supposed to be. Sorry about that. That would be my girlfriend's fault. Those pesky little spells are so touchy. You get one small word or ingredient wrong and instead of a dead hunter you get an age regressed little prick. I'd kill her, but I love the little witch. So I suppose I'll just have to take care of you myself."

"Sounds like maybe you should find yourself a girlfriend who's not a total fuckup." He bends over pretending to check his shoelaces and to pull out his knife only to remember that it's not there. Fuck.

"Now now, it's partly my responsibility as well. Daddy always did say that you can't rely on others to do important jobs for you. And she was pretty close to killing you."

"Yeah, well my dad always told me that close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, dickwad, so maybe you should have taken your daddy's advice."

The man's eyes turn pitch black. "Oh, you have no clue what daddy's got in store."

He sucks in a deep breath, turns and starts to run back towards the main path. He doesn't make it far before he feels himself being lifted and thrown into a tree. His head connects hard but he manages to stay conscious as his attacker, _demon_ his mind screams at him, approaches. He struggles to move away but his body refuses to cooperate and he only manages to strike out weakly with one fist, trying to slow the attack but the demon easily dodges his defenses and knocks his arm away.

His body is being lifted up against his will and the sudden change in elevation makes his stomach lurch. There's a wetness dripping down his neck but his addled mind can't figure out what it is. One of the demon's hands is fisted in his shirt but he can't see the other.

"I have something to show you sweetheart. I'm gonna make you scream."

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a glint of metal and he turns his head to get a better view. He doesn't like what he sees. He looks back up, staring into the demon's black eyes and then his entire body is on fire from the inside out as he's sent into darkness.

TBC...

* * *

I apologize for the ending. Chapter 4 is in the works and I do have a lot of it written, but I have to put it all together since at the moment it's all random bits here and there. I hope you all are still enjoying the ride. There's still a little left to go.


	4. Chapter 4

AN1: I apologize for the long wait. I did a major overhaul of what I had written before and it took longer than I expected. Much longer. Thanks again to LovinJackson for the beta. I hope you enjoy the chapter.

* * *

The SUV Caleb rented isn't exactly the optimal place to read objects, but Mac's been in worse. Ideally, he likes to be in a quiet environment with little distractions around him. Then he's able to focus wholly on the scene around him.

His visions don't work like Caleb's. He's not blindsided with random scenes shifting about. He's not at the mercy of his visions. Instead, when Mac gets a scene in front of him, but he's able to zoom in and out and pan from side to side. He's able to manipulate the scene in front of him and rotate it on its axis. He can move into and out of structures unimpeded. It's the control that he maintains over what he sees that allows him to pick out those identifying details of where of person is.

There was a time when Mac hadn't thought that this was a gift. Years ago, early on and before he'd been able to harness and control it, his visions had felt like a burden. He hadn't wanted to see the things that he could see. Seemingly innocent objects had the potential to trigger unsought visions and send his mind spiraling somewhere, bearing witness to events that he didn't understand. As disorientating as they were, Mackland found that these scenes were typically harmless. It wasn't until later, after a couple of traumatizing and horrid visions that the images weren't so harmless any longer, and he realized their power. So where there was once anger and resentment, there's now a sense of pride in what he's able to do. Now, Mac thinks of his ability as a gift, something given to him to help others, to give parents and loved ones hope or a sense of closure. In this case, it's a member of his own family that needs help and his best friend that needs some hope.

"Have you gotten anything, Dad?" He had thought that making Caleb drive would distract his son from incessantly needling him for information, but Caleb's asked him every two minutes anyway.

"Yes Caleb, I'm sure your Dad's just keeping all the intel to himself. Give him a break, will you." John's answer, while more crass than necessary is accurate enough, so he lets it go for now.

"It's never taken this long before though." Caleb mutters back impatiently.

"Caleb," Jim's speaking now, "Let it be."

"No, Caleb's right, Jim," Mac says. "Give me something else. The jacket isn't working this time around. What else did you bring?"

"I grabbed quite a few things from when the boys were younger." Jim says from the seat beside him.

"You saved his jacket? How sentimental, Jim." John huffs from the front.

"It saved his life and he loved this jacket." Jim shoots back.

"Dean got that jacket when he was fourteen." Caleb says.

"Alright, why is that important?" John asks.

"It means that this Dean has never seen it." Caleb's right of course. His visions work best when the person has a strong bond with the object he's using. Objects that older Dean had won't necessarily work unless this Dean has that shared memory. So anything above thirteen and a half is essentially out.

"What do you have from when the boys were really young?" Mac asks.

He hears Jim moving items around in his suitcase. "There are a couple of t-shirts that may work but I think a lot of the toys were Samuel's."

It's too bad they didn't have any of the dragons, Mac thinks. They may have belonged to Sam, but Dean was strongly tied to them as well. After all, Dean had come up with many of the ideas for stories and Athewm was Sam's favorite. In fact, if he had to pick just one of the dragons, he thinks that Athewm would have worked the best. Dean so rarely sees himself head on, rather he sees himself through those close to him such as John and Sam. So, Sam's most prized, treasured, and loved dragon would mean a lot to Dean.

"Mackland, try this." Something hard lands in his lap and when he looks down he sees a small baseball glove. It's nowhere near the size he'd seen Dean play with as a teen. Instead, it looks just big enough for a very small boy to use.

"Dean had found it in the Senior Center's Thrift store right after you and Caleb brought John and boys up. He wouldn't ask for it…wouldn't ask for anything at that point, but he kept walking over to and standing by it. Nelda, bless her, gave it to him. I don't know if he ever used it, but he kept it nearby." Jim says. Mac recalls a number of gloves that Dean used over the years but doesn't remember this glove specifically. Although to be fair, he did have his hands full with a teen at the time. Very full.

"Mary bought him one so he and I could play catch together." John says quietly from the front. "We lost it in the fire. I'm pretty sure that'll qualify as a shared memory."

A shared nightmare to be more accurate, but it should work nonetheless. Mac closes his eyes and begins to concentrate on the small glove. He runs his fingers over the cracked leather and coarse stitch work. Slowly, the noise of the SUV fades, replaced by the sound of crashing waves. He opens his eyes and finds the image in front of him to be rather tranquil. The smell of salt water and sage drifts through air. He sees a small bungalow surrounded by trees in front of him. He pans a little to the left and finds a mailbox with the address printed on it. He zooms in closer to the cabin now, moving inside, past a set of stairs and down the hallway. Once he's moved into the middle of the dining area, he can easily see nearly all of the kitchen and living room. Sitting down alone in the middle of the living room is Dean, hunched over on himself and rocking gently. He rotates the image until he's directly in front of Dean. The teen's eyes are clenched tightly and his face is pinched with pain. But what shocks Mac is the sheer amount of blood on the child. The front of Dean's shirt is heavily saturated, enough to the point where fat droplets are falling at a regular interval from the hem of his shirt. He looks back up at Dean's face again and takes in the pale complexion, which doesn't add up to the amount of blood that is on the outside of his shirt. If all the blood was his, Dean should be unconscious now.

Mac wishes that he could reach out and provide comfort to the child but he's limited in what he can do. It's in this sense that he can empathize with his son because while he can manipulate his position within the scene, he cannot maneuver or interact with the people within it. The only way he can help Dean now is to leave him, so he lets the vision start to attenuate until he's completely out and back sitting in the SUV.

"4785 Big Cloud Drive. It's close to the beach." he breaths out and a moment later John is on his phone.

"Dad?" Caleb's voice is tinged with fear. Mac's all too aware of the guilt and responsibility his son takes on when it comes to Dean. When he's called in on cases, many times it's to provide closure for families when help has come too late. His son wants to know if help has come too late for Dean.

"He's looks hurt, but alive. I think that the attack has already taken place, but I couldn't see anyone else with him." He answers his son. There's no point in worrying Caleb even more by telling him about all the blood in his vision. It's clear that not all of the blood came from Dean and there's nothing Caleb can do in the meantime but sit and stew so _he_ opts to sit in silence. A moment later John hangs up the phone.

"He found four Big Cloud Drives in California and only two with the identical street number to the one you saw Mac. But given where we're at and what you saw in your vision, we narrowed it down to Montara. What else are we looking at Mac?"

He watches the Marine in his friend emerge and the father retreat as he recounts the details of his vision quickly glossing over the description of Dean on the floor. John's always trusted the medical side of things to him anyway. After he's done John hashes out a basic plan with Caleb and Jim. They're just under ten miles out of Montara when John's phone rings.

"You got something else Ash?" John answers. "Ash…"

John's eyes snap up and meet his own. There's shock and a fair bit of relief in his friend's gaze.

"Dean…listen son, you need to hide somewhere until we get to you. Stay inside, you're not safe." Mac's mind immediately starts to catalog the places where the boy can hide in the bungalow until they get there.

"Dean!" John yells. The phone stays close to his friend's ear for a moment longer before John lets it drop away.

"Shit, step on it Caleb." The SUV accelerate in response. "We got cut off…someone was coming back."

John runs a hand through his hair and squeezes his phone so tight it creaks under the pressure. Mac bends over and grabs one of the maps up off of the floor. They're moving through the hills of Montara now and he thinks back to the bungalow. They should be getting close now.

"Take a left up here, son." He says.

"We're nearly there John." Jim reassures.

"Actually, we are there." Caleb stops the SUV twenty feet away from the bungalow.

When the four of them exit the car, the smell of salt water mixes with the sage growing wild on the hillsides. He can hear the sound of crashing waves not too far off and he gets that all too familiar feeling of déjà vu as he steps out into exactly what he'd seen, heard and smelled minutes earlier in his vision. It's an eerie feeling but he's used to hearing and seeing sounds and sights a second time around. But, it's what he doesn't hear that puts him on edge. Besides the ocean, the air is silent and still. It could almost be mistaken for peaceful but he's been hunting for too long now to mistake this unnatural tranquility for anything other than what it is. It's clear by subtle shift in Caleb's body language that his son is also picking up on whatever impiety Mac is.

"John." Caleb whispers. "Demon."

John only nods back but Mac can tell that his friend's mind is already recalculating and strategizing. A demon makes the situation even direr and they'll have to be much more cautious about extracting Dean.

They load themselves down with holy water and salt before moving again. Using Cullen's jet has its advantages and allowed him to bring along weapons that the others hadn't been able to take along. He and John make their way to the front door while Caleb and Jim move around to the back of the house. His son and Jim are responsible for securing the outside of the house and laying down a salt perimeter to trap the demon. Getting Dean to safety is top priority but they may have to deal with the demon first.

The door is unlocked and John enters first covering him. They move past the staircase and down the hallway. When they enter the living room John moves around the room making sure that it's clear. There's no sign of the demon but the room reeks of sulfur and blood. Mac moves closer to Dean while John, only sparing a glance towards his son, moves back towards the hallway, most likely to start clearing the upstairs while he tends to Dean and gets the teen ready to move.

He crouches next to Dean. The teen's appearance isn't any different from his vision earlier. The boy's hands are tucked in under his armpits and his head is stilled bowed downward. Mac gently places a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean."

He gets no response and his eyes travel down the length of the boy's body and settles on the sickening sight of blood pooling on the floor. He feels the physic shift deep down in his bones and he realizes how close he's allowed the demon to get to him. His head snaps up and he's face to face with a set of obsidian eyes staring intently into his own green ones. He sucks in one quick breath before he feels his body moving against his command. He collides hard against the entertainment center and the last thing that he thinks before he loses consciousness is…_Dean._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~JR~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John almost gags on sulfur saturating the air. It's viscid and nauseating and only gets worse as they move down the hallway. So much worse that he's half tempted to think that his son may have already exorcised the demon. He racks his mind to think if Dean knew any exorcisms at thirteen the first time through. He remembers that the boys had been studying Latin for years before they ever had to use it and despite what his eldest son thought, Sammy wasn't the only one who excelled at it. Dean had rarely given himself enough credit when it came to bookwork.

The house is small enough that it won't take long for the four of them to search. As soon as the salt is down, that demon's as good as gone. Dean's in the center of the room like Mac said he would be, which could be a sign that the demon is gone and Dean felt no need to hide, or it could mean that his son is hurt badly enough that he couldn't move to find anywhere else to hide. His mind supplies one more scenario, one that he's not all too fond of either. The position that Dean's taken up is prime real estate for bait. The thought of some monster using his son as bait to lure one or all of them here makes his blood boil. He really is fed up with watching kids being used as bait and he's especially fed up with his own sons being used for someone or something else's gain.

The guilt is overwhelming. It's old and familiar. When he left Vietnam, the guilt was complex and tenacious. John struggled with it daily. After Mary's murder, guilt was this all-encompassing, unrelenting, excruciating _thing_. It twisted him into some hollowed out version of himself and he often felt that the only thing that filled him at all was finding the demon and knowing that he was keeping his and Mary's children safe by hunting down and killing as many evil creatures as he could in the meantime.

_Dad…there's a guy after me but I got away… _

Christ, Dean's voice had been so full of fear and it pulled at his heart. He'd sounded every bit the thirteen year old kid that he currently is. He had hoped that Dean could find something to protect himself with, back when he thought that they were up against a human. A knife or a gun would have been a godsend and he honestly would have been just fine if this guy had met the same end as the last sick fucker who had grabbed his son. But they're not dealing with any sick human anymore.

_Dad… _

He hadn't had any time to respond before the sound of shattering glass came from the background. His son's pain filled cry was the last thing he heard before the call disconnected. Panic attempted to lay siege to him but he pushed those feelings back down again, needing to regain control and focus. His actions may be fueled by a father's need to keep his son safe, but Dean needs the hunter in him. John doesn't exactly excel at doing both at the same time.

He moves around the perimeter of the room while Mac makes his way over to Dean. He knows Dean is in good hands. Satisfied that they're alone on the first level he makes his way back to the staircase to see if he can force the demon out of hiding. The first room is empty and he's on his way to the second when he hears a loud crash from downstairs.

_Showtime_, he thinks.

"Let's play." He breaths out.

The front door slams open and shut down below him. He reaches the top of the staircase just in time to see a Caleb-like figure blur past him and down the hallway. John takes two steps at a time down the staircase and comes face to face with Jim coming through the front door.

"Caleb said something's wrong with Mac." Jim's says, out of breath.

"So I gathered. Salt down?" He asks.

Jim nods and they make their way down the hallway slowly, only pausing for a moment at the sound of another crash in the living room. He's got his shotgun with salt rounds, Jim's got the holy water, and he's confident in their ability to send this demon straight back to Hell. Until he makes it around the corner and finds his son looking at him from the floor, precisely where John had last seen him. Only it isn't his son looking up at him. That's not his son's smile and those aren't his son's eyes. It's difficult to contain or control his growing rage. He feels the hunter in him dissipate. That mask that he'd put on just minutes ago slides off and shatters leaving only a father's rage over his son's violation. "Get out of him."

"Oh, hey pops." The demon says. His son's body unfolds and stands. It looks unnatural. The demon keeps one hand tight to Dean's body while in the other it's holding a pistol. The kid's face is waxen and colorless except for the dark smudges beneath demon-black eyes. Dean's clothes look like they've been through nothing less than a bloodbath.

His boy looks awful.

"Get out of him, now." He repeats.

The demon lets out a pained groan, "Oh, well, since you asked twice I guess I'll just be on my way."

John's quickly losing his patience, but just as he's about to move toward the demon he hears Jim shuffle up beside him.

"You look ill." Jim says from beside him. "How about we let you leave."

The demon raises the pistol and aims it Jim while stepping back until it reaches the wall.

"Well, well, if it isn't the man of the hour." The demon doesn't break eye contact with Jim. "And how would you suppose that I leave? Should I just up and walk through those salt lines outside? Nothing in and nothing out gramps."

"We could break them. You'd have to leave the boy behind of course." Jim answers.

Without lowering the pistol the demon leans back against the wall heavily and slides down until it's seated again on the floor.

"Fuck." It whispers.

Jim is right, the demon does look sick, or at least his son's body does. This is a unique situation they're in here. He's never seen an ill looking demon before. In pain, yes, but not ill. Even after all of the exorcisms he and Jim have done together, he doesn't recall seeing a demon looking so frail and sickly.

"Or," Jim continues, "We could always do this the old fashioned way."

The demon looks like it's actually considering Jim's proposal. His son's eyebrows are knitted together in concentration and the demon has shifted back to using Dean's green eyes instead of black. John prefers seeing the black instead.

"No, I don't think so. Orders are orders after all. And this little mistake has afforded us the unique opportunity to get ahead of schedule." The demon responds.

"Unique opportunity?" he asks.

The demon twists his son's face into a smirk. "Kill the Guardians. Safeguard the plan."

John can see the situation heading south before it happens, although it doesn't take long. He grabs a hold of Jim and pulls him towards the kitchen but not before the demon starts shooting. He and Jim get behind the kitchen island, momentarily sheltered from the barrage. The only weapon he has is his shotgun and Latin and he's only willing to shoot his own child, even if it is rock salt as a last resort. So he starts reciting the exorcism from where he hides.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus …"

He's not even a full sentence into the passage when he hears a loud thud and his son cry out. When he glances out from behind the island he sees Mac using the couch to help him stand upright, but all of his friend's focus is on the demon possessing his son. Dean's body is upright, rigid against the wall. It seems as though the demon lost its ability to break Mac's telekinetic stronghold.

John gets up and helps Jim up off the floor. The Pastor's shirtsleeve is bloodied but before he can grab it to take a look, his friend is waving him off.

"It can wait John." Together they make their way over to Mac and Caleb. John can feel demon lashing out psychically, but there's no real power behind it and it causes nothing more than a small headache. Caleb used to do worse when he was still learning how control his abilities as a teen. The turn in events is unexpected, but John will take good fortune when he can, since it befalls his family so seldom.

"Nice trick, Mac. I think there may have been a time or two that your little trick may have come in handy." He says.

Mac doesn't look over at him, still concentrating on the demon. "I shouldn't be able to have this much control over the demon. I've never been able to do this during a possession before."

John walks closer to the demon. "I bet you wish you'd taken door number one. You could have vacated willingly but you just had to be difficult. Oh well, more fun for us."

The demon pulls in a deep breath and with obvious effort. Dean's eyes are glassy with pain. "Fucking water. Hurts."

He's doesn't really care what's hurting it. He's more than ready to get this thing out of his son and back to Hell where it belongs but Jim steps forward, cradling his arm against his chest and looks into the demon's eyes. "You're trespassing. And you're paying very dearly for it. That water is eroding and fragmenting you with every push and pull of its tide. I would let Dean finish you himself, but you've overstayed your welcome here. Consider yourself lucky."

He doesn't need any more of an invitation than that. It's his turn to step in now and he picks up where he left off. Just before he finishes he sees the demon look up, using up the last of its energy and control, and smile at Jim. "You're dead, padre. When I get back…I'm going to slit you from ear to ear and no one will be able to do anything to save you."

As he finishes the last passage, Dean's head snaps beck and the demon is expelled from his son's body in a cloud of black smoke. With the demon gone Dean's body goes limp in Mac's psychic hold and John moves forward to take his son's weight. "I've got him, Mac."

He gets an overwhelming sense of nostalgia holding onto to Dean in this smaller and lighter form. John slides his arm under Dean's knees and back and starts carrying him towards the door. He can feel Dean's short bursts of breath on his neck and his son's strong and steady heartbeat on the other arm cradling Dean's back.

"Let me check him out, John." Mac places a hand on his shoulder to stop him but John keeps moving down the hallway. "John."

"Not here, Mac. I don't want him waking up here and we've got to split before someone calls the cops."

They make their way back to the SUV where Caleb reclaims the driver's seat. This time Jim's riding shotgun while he and Mac tend to Dean in the backseat. John watches Mac work next to him but he finds himself spacing out after Mac concludes that Dean's not in any imminent danger. He keeps Dean's head propped up in his lap and doesn't pay attention to anything other than the steady rise and fall of his son's chest and the way he can make Dean's hair stand up on end as he runs his fingers through it. He avoids looking at the drying blood on Dean's shirt even though Mac checked to make sure it didn't come from Dean. He'll add that mystery to the rapidly growing pile of questions that he'll need to ask Dean when he wakes up.

"What was all the chatter about water?" Caleb asks from the front.

"Guardians have a deep connection to water. Its purity was harming the demon and would have ultimately destroyed it. Dean's age may have been altered, but it appears that the original groundwork hasn't changed and the plan is still in motion." Jim answers.

_That _sparks his interest. "What do you mean the plans are still in motion? He's not ready for that, Jim. You need to be looking at Gideon instead…"

"It does not work that way, Jonathon." Jim interrupts.

"Well make it work that way, James…" he yells back. It's suddenly quiet in the SUV and he realizes that they're not moving. "Why the hell aren't we moving?"

"Well, unless you want me to actually drive into the hotel, I thought that parking would work best." Caleb turns off the SUV and heads into the office. After he checks for any signs that Dean may be regaining consciousness he turns his attention back to Jim.

"Gideon can do the job just fine. It's ridiculous to think that this kind of responsibility can just be handed over to a teenager. He doesn't even have a ring." He says to Jim.

"Nothing is just being handed over. And it's not something that will happen until he's ready." Jim responds calmly, like John doesn't have any say in the matter at all. He and the Pastor are most definitely going to have a discussion on the topic.

They sit in silence until Caleb heads back to them. "The rooms are adjoined and they have kitchens so we can hang out here for as long as we need to. He waking up?"

"No, so let's get a move on. I want him out of these clothes by the time he does wake up."

After he situates Dean on one of the pull out sofa beds, he makes quick work of Dean's shirt and pants and then tucks him under three layers of blankets even though he knows the kid's temp is probably up.

Mac comes in from his and Caleb's room carrying his oversized first aid kit.

"We should consider taking him to the hospital, John, if Dean doesn't wake up soon." Mac says.

"Taking Dean to the hospital is fucking terrible idea, Mac." He doesn't mean for it to come out so harsh, but he's tired and dirty and he could really use a shower and some sleep.

"Yes, of course I can most definitely see how procuring your son medical attention is a _fucking terrible idea_."

"Well, Mackland, I'm glad that we're in agreement over this." He hopes that Mac will just let it go, but nothing today is going to be so easy.

"We are certainly not in agreement on this matter…"

"You just said in the car that he's stable. If we take Dean into a hospital after he's been unconscious or while he's unconscious, they're going to assume a concussion. When he wakes up, they're going to ask him his name, the date, his birthday, who the president is. We have no clue how he'll respond and there's a damn good chance that he won't come up with the right answers. Or he'll come up with the right answers for him, but they'll make no sense to the docs. So tell me how that's a good idea Mac."

"Nice of your parental instincts to finally wake up and come out to play there, Johnny." Caleb calls from the adjoining room.

"Can it, Caleb. I don't recall inviting you to insert your opinion into our conversation!" He calls back.

"Wow. Some things never change." John's head snaps towards the bed, his eyes landing on his son. Dean's shifting under the mound of blankets, pushing the top two aside and completely off of him. By the time he's done he's sweaty and looks in pain. "God, remind me to never run away again."

Dean's voice sounds raw and painful, scraped tender by the demon's hasty exit. John steps over to the kitchen and pours Dean a cool glass of water and watches as his son sips it cautiously, wincing a bit as the first bit of it goes down.

"You have a very bad habit of getting yourself into the most perilous situations when you take off alone." Mac says from his spot next to Dean.

"Yeah, I've had my fill of kidnappings and attempted murders this year." It may have been years for the rest of them since Griffin had carried out his kidnapping plan but for Dean the whole ordeal is still fresh.

Mac rummages through the medical kit and gives a triumphant ah-ha when he pulls out the penlight. Dean isn't quite as appreciative for the find and cringes at the sight. "Ah, come on Mac. I'm awake, isn't that enough?"

"No. I'm not happy with how long it took you to come around and I believe a trip to a clinic would rule out any unseen problems. Your father disagrees." Mac shoots him a quick look before he moves the light towards Dean.

John shifts a little under the scrutiny. "His _father_ is right."

Mac lowers the penlight and looks like he's got his hackles up for another fight but John cuts him off. "However, you do need to let Mac take a look at you. So stop your fussing and let him get to it."

Dean sits still and submits to Mac's ministrations. John knows all too well how uncomfortable the penlight can be. Dean does too. John's not too proud of that. Dean doesn't look directly at him during the exam but every once in a while he'll catch his kid peeking at him out of the corner of his eye. It's one of Dean's oldest tells, one that predates the fire and one that he outgrew by the time he hit sixteen. Dean is trying to gage whether John's mad at him or not. His son has always been hypersensitive about John's approval or disappointment and he hasn't actually said anything to the kid yet to put him at ease.

"Hey Deuce, how are you feeling." He watches Dean's eyes light up the moment Caleb comes through the door. Caleb's always been there for Dean, as much as John's allowed in the past. Sometimes more than John's wanted. But it'll be even more imperative for his son to be able to count on and trust in Caleb now and in the years to come.

"Like I spent the entire afternoon as some jerk's meat suit. I feel like shit." And tired, John thinks.

"We'll be on concussion watch tonight, just to be on the safe side. He's got two badly bruised ribs and some abrasions, but I think that a good night's sleep will do wonders." Mac says as he sets his supplies aside and moves towards the other room. "I do hope you've left some hot water for me son."

Caleb moves in closer to Dean, resting a hand on the teen's arm. "That means it's nap time for you, kiddo. That'll give us grownups time for a chat and you time to rest before twenty questions starts up."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Like Dad will ever consider you a grownup, Damien." It's Caleb's face that lights up. John hasn't heard his son's nickname for Caleb once since the regression and he suspects that Caleb's missed that connection desperately. It's more than just an olive branch, it's more like the entire tree.

"Just you watch, Deuce, it'll happen someday." Olive branch accepted.

"Sure Caleb. Just as soon as you start acting like a _real_ grownup. I'll meet you guys in the other room in a couple minutes." He wants a few moments alone with his son before Dean drifts back off to sleep.

When the two of them are alone Dean is still not looking at him. "Something interesting about the blanket there, Dean?"

"No sir." A moment more passes before Dean looks up and meets his eyes but it doesn't look like he's going to get any more out of his son unprompted.

"I thought we were over the running away, Dean." It's not where he wants to start. He wants to ask where the blood came from or how long his son was possessed for. He wants to ask if Dean's okay but this needs to be said and he's really not ready for the answers that may come to his other questions.

"I didn't think it would be a problem." Dean says quietly. Fear had caused Dean to run the first time, desperation the second time. Whatever had caused Dean to rabbit this time around, he doesn't know, but it's beyond him why his son thinks that running away isn't an issue. John's pretty sure that most of his parenting choices up until this point have all conveyed the fact that he's both obsessive and controlling where his sons are concerned.

"Funny, I happen to think that you taking off is a pretty big problem." Dean huffs out an incredulous breath like what John just said couldn't be further from the truth. Like he's just spitting out lies here for the hell of it, or maybe just for Dean's benefit.

"I heard you."

"Which time, son? The first time when you took off to Caleb's or the second time when you took off after Sam and got yourself on some asshole's radar? Because you say you heard me, but your actions are telling a totally different story."

Dean doesn't say anything and he's looking off like he's trying to come to some sort of decision. John knows how meticulously Dean can be at picking out his words. His son weighs out his options, checking the trajectory to make certain that the conversation hits the right target. Dean knows that if he doesn't his old man can cause a misfire.

"I meant I heard what you told Pastor Jim back at the farm." _Shit_.

"Shit."

It would be an understatement to say that that was a bad moment for him. He'd seen Dean walk off down to the pond after his dismissal and hadn't thought twice about it. Dean had spent so much time down at the pond that he didn't worry about being overheard. Or maybe he just didn't care. After his tirade, Jim had come down hard on him, harder than he had in years and John had finally relented and agreed to talk with Dean. That talk had never materialized.

"I should have never said that and I wish you hadn't heard it." This conversation is full of potential landmines and he needs to tread carefully because a lot of what he'd said to Jim was true. He'd been crass and insensitive when he'd spoken, uncouth Jim had called him, but there was truth mixed in there. He raised Dean to be a man who can take care of himself and take care of his brother. He built Dean up to be a barrier to stand in between Sammy and anything and everything out there to get Sammy and he'd taken for granted that Dean would be there to keep his brother grounded and safe. It's obvious now that the demons have taken Dean as a real threat to their plans, a threat that needs to be neutralized and taken out of the way. That's something he hadn't really considered before. John had always thought that _he_ was the main threat that the demons would take out and Dean was the last line of defense before Sam.

It's apparent that he needs to reconsider his position because everything is different now. The entirety of their family dynamics has been upended and now he's got to have faith that the child he all but handed over to Dean to raise will be able to make the right decisions without his older brother by his side. But he can't explain that all to Dean, can't tell the boy in front of him all of the horrors that could be in store for them if they don't keep Sam…Sam.

"I was wrong. I got so wrapped up in what I thought I had lost, in the son that I lost, that I chose to ignore the son I still have."

"You said I wasn't your son."

"I was trying to convince myself." He rubs at the four day old stubble on his face. He feels old as hell. "I did it out of self-protection and like I said, I was wrong. You are my son."

If John can keep Dean away from the negatives and steer him towards the positives, he's got a good chance at salvaging this relationship and keeping Dean safe and where he belongs. Because there's no way he can go out, find and kill the demon if he's distracted and hoping that Dean is somewhere safe. There is truth in what he said. Dean is still his son. He gets that now and he needs to _know_ unequivocally that Dean is alright. "You can't keep doing this to me, kid, especially now. I'm way too old for this and I gotta know that when I go on a hunt I can trust you to keep yourself safe. And that means I need to be able to trust that you're not going to make tracks when I turn my back."

"Because you don't have the time to train me?" Isn't that the fucking truth. He really, really doesn't have the time. There's no way that he can cram in all the training he wants Dean to know into whatever time they have left before the proverbial shit hits the fan. But John sees this for what it is. This is his way in. Dean loves hunting and John knows that he can get Dean back to following orders and sticking close by if the pot is sweet enough.

"You were a quick learner the first time, I guess you'll just have to be quicker this time around. Most of your training is going to have to be on the job and it's going to be a lot of hard work. Are you up for it?" He already knows what the answer is.

"I don't want you to keep me around because you feel bad dad." Except when he doesn't apparently.

"Well, I do feel bad Dean. But that's not why I'm keeping you around. I want you around because you're my child and there's no one else in the world, other than a couple of people outside these two hotel rooms that I would trust to train you and keep you safe. And because you're going to grow into a great hunter."

"Great hunter I'll be. I shot Jim, dad."

"It was more of a graze really." Dean doesn't look amused at John's attempt at levity.

"It's still my fault." There's devastation in Dean's eyes. And he knows that Dean can do guilt like no kid he's ever known but there's more to this than grazing Jim.

"The demon saw an opening and seized it, Dean. As soon as it figured out that it could exploit the situation you became its target. It just took advantage of the situation."

"A situation that I created dad."

"It could have possessed you any other time you left the farm, Dean. We weren't planning on keeping you at Jim's forever." He can see by the look in Dean's wrecked eyes that he's not getting anywhere. "You have to let this go. Jim's just fine. He's had worse, a lot worse." Nothing changes, Dean hasn't lost that look. "What's really going on, son?"

"I created the situation. I killed a guy. I killed a human. Hunters don't do that." He'd chalk up his son's naivety to his age, but he'd be having the same conversation with his grown son now too, in the same situation. Grownup Dean would never find a human death acceptable either. At least now he knows where all the blood came from, although he had suspected. He'll have to have Jim get some guys out looking for the body to make sure Dean can't be tied to it. That can wait for the moment, right now he has to do damage control.

"No you didn't, Dean."

"I let myself get possessed."

"He _let_ himself get possessed first."

"That's not fair, Dad. I know about the supernatural. I know about demons and I know almost an entire exorcism. I should have done better and helped him and I should've…" He's not going to let his son finish that statement.

"Dean." Dean's not looking at him anymore, lost in his own thoughts and condemnations.

"Dean," he tries again, "do we blame the people we help?"

Dean doesn't respond, but he doesn't need to. John knows this kid inside and out, far better than most parents could ever dream of knowing their children. He knows how much the kid puts on himself. And he knows that Dean will take on the blame himself before he'll share it. He knows because he's mostly to blame for it. It's the way he's trained Dean. John knows where and how deep the fault lines run and where the tripwires have been placed. With Dean, he can circumnavigate that minefield, only triggering the one's he wants or needs. Tiptoe here, stomp there and he can make Dean do just about anything he needs, feel anyway he wants. Caleb calls it being a controlling and manipulative asshole. John calls it being a parent. John knows that Dean gets his sensitivity from Mary and this is just a case of him trying to nurture the nature right out of his son. He just needs to apply the right amount of pressure. Get Dean to crack. Then he can put his child back together again.

"I wasn't paying attention. I went into the woods and I didn't exercise any situational awareness. You should be pissed at me."

"This isn't your fault. Do we blame the people that we help?" Most people don't knowingly or intentionally bring horror and tragedy down upon themselves or their loved ones. "Do we Ace?"

Dean lowers his head and shakes it from side to side. John doesn't need to see his face to know that he's crying.

"But I feel like I did," comes Dean's whispered response.

John shifts over on the bed, pulls Dean close to him and leans back on the bed. Dean's crying harder now, face tucked away into John's side. He's never been possessed before, but he's been in situations where he's had no control, seen and done things that will haunt him for life. He couldn't save Dean from watching his mother die but he'd wanted to spare his child from knowing what it's like to take someone else's life. Or at the very least, save him from experiencing it so young. The most he can hope for now is to minimize the damage the demon did. Dean may not have taken that man's life willfully, but he's going to feel like he did for a while. But not forever, John won't allow his son to carry the weight of that man's death on his conscious. Dean may not be ready to grant himself absolution right away but John still needs to try.

"The demon did it, Dean, not you. Nobody here blames you. _I _don't blame you. None of us could have taken on that demon at your age, hell, most of us didn't even know that demon's existed at your age. You're just as innocent in this as that man was. You just need to keep telling yourself that, kiddo."

The minute tremors running through Dean's shoulders steadily progress into full body shudders and John can feel his shirt growing damper. The crying has grown from silent to breathless sobbing. But it doesn't last long. It never does with Dean. Sam was always better at the prolonged waterworks. A couple more minutes pass by until the tremors have subsided and Dean's breathing normalizes. When Dean doesn't move, John shifts slightly and finds that Dean's cried himself to sleep. It's not a totally foreign position for them to be in, after all he was the one to offer Dean solace and consolation through his many nightmares when he was younger, but it's not something that he's done for a long, long time. He's only surprised that Dean was able to hold on for as long as he did. John shifts and settles into the bed a little more, for the night apparently, shifts Dean's pliant form so that he's not completely buried in his armpit and retucks the blankets back around his son.

"How's he doing?" Caleb whispers from the other side of the bed. John should've known the kid wouldn't go to sleep without checking on Dean again.

"He'll be fine." John doesn't have to look up to know that Caleb's eyes are rolling. He can practically hear them knocking around in the kid's skull.

"Just not right now." There's no right answer for that. At least none that Caleb will find acceptable. Dean's not okay right now. He won't be okay tomorrow either. But at least tomorrow when Dean wakes, he can start answering questions.

"Do you think he saw Sam?" Caleb asks.

"I'm not sure. I guess it doesn't matter all that much does it? Sam's not here." He answers.

"Are you planning on letting Sam know that he's now the proud owner of a little bother?"

"You know, I wasn't able to give Sam what he wanted growing up, or rather, I wasn't willing to give up what I needed to give Sam what he wanted. When he left for Stanford, I didn't handle it well, but I'm choosing to embrace it as a way to give him what he's wanted all this time."

"So that's a no right? Fuck you're cryptic sometimes, and if you think estrangement is what Sam wants then you don't know your son very well."

"Yeah, well, like that's something I haven't heard before. He can't live with one foot in each world, Caleb. He knows what he wants, I'm just helping him get there." He fires back.

"By being a complete bastard to him?"

"By giving him his drive. By allowing him his righteous indignation."

"Shit, you are unbelievable. Sam didn't need your disapproval to motivate him and lots of hunters live in both worlds…"

"And it almost always ends in blood and tears, Caleb…"

"That should be Sam's decision."

"I think he made his decision very clear." He shouts and Dean shifts restlessly under his blankets. There's no other topic that can raise John's blood pressure, not to mention his voice, as quickly as that of his youngest son.

Not his youngest son anymore he reminds himself. After he and Caleb are quiet for a moment Dean settles back down.

"You didn't really give him any options John. And you shouldn't take away this option from him either. This…is looking more and more permanent, and Sam deserves to be a part of his brother's upbringing just like Dean was a part of his. And Dean needs to have Sam in his life too."

"What Dean needs now is to feel like he's got some control in his life and that he's a part of something again. And that means he needs to be ready for anything. We're not going to be there every second to watch him, Caleb." Caleb's far from dense and he catches on quickly to the implications of what John's saying.

"You want to start training him again?"

"I am going to start training him again. You said it yourself, this is looking more and more permanent."

"So, the plan is to keep it from Sam and start training Dean again."

"For the time being."

"And of course you reserve the right to change the game plan anytime you see fit."

"Well, when you make it all the way to upper management kid, those are the perks." He tries to defuse the situation further.

"I think we should tell Sam." _Like a fucking dog with a bone_, he thinks.

"Why don't we wait and talk it over with Dean tomorrow. If he still wants to see his brother, I'll let you two go and see him. I won't like it, and I won't let Sam come in and take over, but I won't interfere with their communication. That's the best I can do."

"Wow. You know if you hadn't been such an ass and let him talk to his brother weeks ago then we could have avoided this entire mess." And created an entirely different one, he's sure.

"It's my best offer, Caleb, live with it." Caleb won't have to live with it of course. John knows damn well that Dean's not going to want to see Sam with his head all screwed up the way it is. Being a good older brother has always been at the top of Dean's priorities since Sam was born and he's not going to start burdening Sam with his problems now.

That's what Caleb's for.

"Hit the main light on your way out." He says.

"Sir, yes, sir. I guess we'll be talking in the morning then?" Caleb sends him a mock salute.

"Don't call me sir, I work for a living. Oh, give the pistol to Mac, it's not Dean's. Maybe he can find out where the possession took place and tell Jim that we need to take care of a body. That's where all the blood came from."

"Shit. You told him it wasn't his fault right?"

"Yeah, I'm not sure it did much good. He still feels guilty as hell." Caleb sighs heavily as he grabs the pistol and walks towards the door but thankfully he stays quiet and John's appreciative of the reprieve. He knows Caleb's just stockpiling ammunition for tomorrow but John will be ready for him by then.

The light flicks off, leaving him with just enough light from the bedside lamp to check on Dean during the night. He turns on his side, grabbing one of the discarded blankets to use for himself. He carefully extracts his numb arm from under Dean and rubs at the limb to try to regain circulation. He's got about forty minutes before he has to wake Dean up and he's going to use it to start tailoring Dean's new training schedule. Heavy on the demons. Because the kid he raised was a real threat. Which is a damn good thing, that's what he'd raised his son to be before and it's time for him to start training him to be that again.

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End Notes: One more chapter to go. We'll go back to the farm and check in with Dean. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Happy New Year! Here we are at the end and I just wanted to say thank you to those you you who read, commented, alerted or lurked. I appreciate you all. Writing this has been such a learning process for me. I've written my fair share of lab reports and article reviews, but this was a completely different animal. Thanks to LovinJackson for the encouragement and proofreading. Thanks to Ridley, because the Brotherhood AU has been and continues to be a joy to read.

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He feels like he's back at the beginning again. Except for today his body aches and there's a warm breeze blowing steadily across Jim's pond, in contrast to the stifling heat that he'd left just days before.

_Days. _

It feels like so much longer than that. He feels so much older than he did when he left the farm. The possession has left him shaky and unsure and he doesn't feel like he'll ever be the same again.

The demon that had possessed him didn't just have darkness within her…she was darkness. She was hatred and malevolence. She was the total absence of humanity, and currently, the object of his latest nightmares. He's had nightmares before, but they were usually about what was after him, what was being done to him. The worst ones were about failure. His dreams would taunt and torture him as he found himself moments too late to save his family.

These are different. Now, he's the monster. He's the one who has blood and death on his hands, startling awake with his own image burnt into his mind, gagging at the sharp taste of sulfur that he swears is still in his mouth. It's not as bad as it was that first day back in the hotel when he'd cycled through vomiting, showering and brushing his teeth for hours. They'd tried to get him to eat but he couldn't manage to keep anything down, water included, which had led to Mac giving him an IV by nightfall.

He'd felt miserable physically and exhausted mentally, but it wasn't enough to deter his father from questioning him the next day. Apparently it hadn't been bad enough that he'd cried himself to sleep in his father's arms like a sissy the night before. He really hadn't been up for a repeat performance so he'd tried to put off answering any questions but apparently thirteen year olds haven't gained any more right to privacy in this time than they'd had in his own time. So in between his bouts of vomiting he had to retell the nightmare.

He'd started with the possession, which he thought might be a lot like having a white hot fire poker rammed down your throat. The demon scorched and seared its way into his body, and then flowed, filling every available space. She'd chuckled at his pain, pushed further, stretching his body beyond capacity. Once she had finished settling into his skin, bones and muscles, the initial intense pain receded but he was still left with a dull ache throughout his body.

He knew, from hearing other hunters talk, that victims of possession usually complained of missing time but he could hear and see nearly everything that happened. She talked incessantly. Mostly rhetorical conversation meant to screw with him.

_How do you think we should kill him Dean? We could break his neck. Blow his brain out. Strangle him. Pin him to a ceiling somewhere and light him up._

Like he'd really had a choice in the matter, but that didn't stop him from trying to get her to let George go. He and George were a lot alike, he had thought at the time, both ultimately inconsequential to the big picture, just a means to an end. George, more so at the moment than he. Poor fucking George Creech, in the wrong place at the wrong time and who was doing his best crabwalk away from him. Not a bad guy, he had found out later. Worked as a nutritional aid at a hospital in Texas and got to see his kids every Tuesday night for dinner and every other weekend. He left behind two sons and one daughter, a black lab named Chester and enough friends and family to fill his church to standing room only.

He hadn't known George then, but had begged for her to let him go all the same. For all the good it did the end he was left watching and feeling his own body commit murder. She'd sliced through George's throat with ease and when George fell forward, blood gurgling and spraying from the wound, _his_ arms had caught him, and _his_ hands pulled and separated the gaping hole in George's throat even more and drained the blood into a bowl. He felt his shirt soak up the rest of the blood. It was hot against his skin and he had wanted to throw up. He wanted to do a lot of things. She shoved George's body off to the side and her movements had been smooth, like she'd done this hundreds of times before. Maybe she had.

_There's about five liters of blood in an average human body. Did you know that kid? We could have painted the forest with him. Still can. What do you think? Are you into art…oh, no that's more of your BFF's thing isn't it? _

He'd told her to shut the fuck up about Caleb and she'd giggled.

_Family, I tell you Deano, do you mind if I call you that? Just kidding, I don't give a fuck if you care or not. But family, yeah, family is the other 'f' word. You'll learn that someday. _

Then she had pushed him back and away. It wasn't like being unconscious or asleep. He could still think on his own, but he was cut off from any incoming stimuli. He couldn't see, smell, feel, or hear anything from the outside world but, unfortunately, could still feel, taste and smell her noxious sulfuric self.

She let him back out later during the ride. He'd been on a motorcycle before, but only because his dad insisted that he know how to ride on the back in case of an emergency. And that had only been once because his dad hated the things, would hardly go near one voluntarily ever since he broke his femur riding one as a teen. Dean really didn't mind it himself, would probably have enjoyed the ride if he wasn't being ridden himself at the time. But the possession felt a little like flying, that total loss of control that he hated so much. So instead of watching the road in front of him fly by and thinking about the damage she could do to him if she just shifted his weight wrong, he had focused on the oil platforms in the distance and then the waves crashing against the rocky shore.

And he'd been overtaken with homesickness. He missed the soft small beach by Jim's pond, the rusted cars at Bobby's junkyard and the safety of Mac's penthouse apartment. God, had he ever missed the Impala. He wanted to undo what he'd done, unsee what he'd seen, and he most certainly had not wanted to be an unwilling participant in whatever she had planned next. And he was sure that she had something more planned. There had been a definite shift in her mood from before. She'd become a little more focused and a little less flippant.

Still refused to shut the fuck up though.

_You should see the things we're going to do together Dean. I'm going to rip you apart, after you watch your family die. Maybe we'll go look in on Sammy before I send you off. Daddy's favorite. _

Demon's lie, he'd repeated in his mind, but the statement had still stung.

_I'm not lying. He is daddy's favorite. Always has been, always will be._

She parked the motorcycle and moved them inside of a small house. She'd moved from the first floor to the second while he prayed that the house was empty.

He had prayed and she had cried out in pain. He tried to move against her, pushing against the heat but there was no give. So he'd repeated the little bit of the exorcism that he and Sam had been learning. She had lashed back at him. It had been immediate and viscous and this time there was no awareness when he went away.

When he came back he was in the living room, sitting in the middle of the floor. His body was swaying back and forth and it took him a moment to realize that it wasn't his vision that swayed, she was rocking them.

_Back with me now, you little fuck? I was going to make this easy on you, just a simple bullet in each of your loved one's brains…but now…now I'm going to take my sweat time. You think George was bad, that was nothing._

She was bluffing and he could feel it. He tried pushing again and there was some give, a little more wiggle room. His left foot kicked out a little and he started the exorcism from the beginning again. She shrieked inside of him and pushed back, hard.

_Time to get the gang back together kid._

He was still reeling from her push when she brought out the cell phone.

_Let's get John's ass moving a little faster shall we? What's that number now…oh, there it is…four…one…four..._

The phone only rang twice before his dad picked up. He struggled against her while hearing his own voice, frantic and scared, begging for his father's help.

_Dad…there's a guy after me but I got away… _

He pushed harder again, wanting to warn his dad. He rallied up all the strength he could gather and charged her. It was an all-out assault and he hurled the only weapons he had. She fought back in between his christos and broken exorcisms. He heard his dad's voice coming through the receiver, warning him that he wasn't safe.

You have no clue, he'd thought.

Just when he had thought that she was too strong, that he wasn't going to get through, he felt her control slip. It took him a moment to realize that the phone was still in his hand. That moment had cost him. A quick 'dad' was all he was able to get out before she was back. Back and pissed off. He heard himself cry out and glass shatter nearby, then a cutting pain hit him and drifted away from all conscious thought.

Moment passed by before he regained any comprehension. There were things that were happening around him. He was able to see them. Mac and his dad. Then Caleb, Jim, and his dad again. He had nothing left to give though, drained and weak. In pain. They felt so far away, like he was looking at them through a tunnel. The sounds around him were muffled and distorted. He had felt his body move, felt the kick of George's pistol in his hands, felt Mac pin him against the wall, saw blood on Jim's shirt.

But mostly he could feel them both dying. Or at least he had thought that they were dying. She wasn't able to keep her foothold in him much longer. He felt her being ripped from his body and it had hurt just as badly as it had when she'd first possessed him. And after she'd gone, he had felt himself slowing filling in the places that she'd left. The tunnel he had been looking through shrank and the voices around him faded and then finally, he'd slept.

The sound of Caleb and his dad fighting filled his head and the sound was familiar and comforting, like the soft purring of the Impala. It was the sound of home and family, dysfunction and all. And he'd been so happy and relieved to see them, up until he remembered the horror of what had happened to George, Jim's bloodied sleeve, and the words that had driven him to run. He expected condemnation and disappointment from his dad, but he'd received support and understanding instead.

Now, his dad is going to show him everything he knows about demons. The plan is to head out to Bobby's soon and for once he's not going to complain about the bookwork, even though he'd much rather be doing than reading. But he just learned the hard way that he can't expect to do much of anything to a demon without the right kind of knowledge. And Bobby's is the best place for that.

"Hi Dean." Jim's stealth is a legend within their small group. He hadn't even heard the Pastor come up on him, but he is the Guardian after all.

"Hey Jim." He responds as Jim lowers himself down onto the ground beside him.

"I hear you and your father are heading out soon. How do you feel about that?"

Scared, he thinks.

"Bobby knows a lot about demons." He replies instead.

"Robert does have the best library on demons, but that didn't really answer my question. How do you feel about leaving so soon?"

"I feel like anyone could be a demon and I'm scared that I'll miss all the signs again." He admits.

"I could talk your father into staying a little longer. You could spend some more time here at the farm, maybe give your brother a call. There's no shame in that." That doesn't feel true. Shame has become his companion. For George, for Jim and for himself.

"I'll call Sammy. But not yet." His dad had offered up Sam's phone number the day after he'd been possessed. Dean had gladly accepted the number to hold onto until he could store it in a new cell phone, but he hadn't made the call. If he hadn't been ready to burden Sam before the possession, then there was no way he was going to afterwards. And he really wasn't ready to see his brother and start being the little brother. This way, he could hold onto the title of big brother for a little longer.

"And, I'm really sorry I shot you, Jim."

"It was really more of a graze, Dean." Funny, he thinks he remembers his dad saying something like that. It didn't make him feel any better before either.

"Still."

"You are not responsible for what the demon did, Dean. In fact you saved me…and yourself."

"I didn't _do_ anything though. I couldn't do anything except watch."

"You fought, Dean, for me and your father, Mac and Caleb. That's what saved me. This could have been so much worse."

"We lost an innocent man." After all, that was the point of the Brotherhood, to shield and protect innocent people from evil.

"Sad as that may be, we _could_ have lost you. And I don't believe that any one of us could have bared that loss." Jim shifts on the ground and pulling out a small bag from his pants. He upends the bag and a leather bracelet falls into his palm along with a ring. "These are yours. You don't remember them, but you are almost never without them when you're older."

Dean remembers seeing the bracelet, but had assumed that it didn't belong to him. He cocks an eyebrow at Jim, "I wear bracelets when I'm older huh?"

"Well, far be it for me to comment on the fashion trends of today, but yes, you do."

"Interesting. Does Damien give me shit about it?"

"I believe Caleb gives you grief about anything he can, but I don't think that this is one of them."

He moves the bracelet back and forth between his hands but the object holds no familiarity to it.

"It's got skulls on it at least." Jim looks amused as he digs into his pocket once again.

"I was going to send this Robert's way. They're charms to help protect against possession. I thought that we could attach one onto your bracelet and perhaps that will give you a little peace of mind."

Peace of mind sounds great to him. He may have to do battle inside of his dreams, but the charm would lessen his anxiety about leaving the farm. He takes the charm from Jim, ties it in between two of the skulls and slips it on his wrist. Then he looks at the other object in Jim's hand even though he already knows what that is.

"That's my ring then?" He knows that his older self had received a ring, but it doesn't feel right taking it now.

"It is. And it'll be yours again when you're older. I just wanted you to see it. You grew into…and I'm positive, will grow again, into a competent hunter and an incredible man. I gave you this ring once before and you'll get it again. Don't doubt that, Dean. I don't." Jim hands the ring over and he feels its weight in his palm and the responsibility that comes with it.

He still wants it. He wants to help people. "Saving people, hunting things, the family business. I think I'm ready to go to Bobby's now, Pastor Jim." 

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End Note: I hope you enjoyed the story. Next one up will be the actual meeting between Dean and Sam.


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